Lure of Song and Magic

by Patricia Rice

  He handed cash over to the clerk and told him he needed twenty dollars in fuel. He wasn’t polluting his gas tank more than that.

  “Don’t look now, but there’s someone at the corner of the building,” Pippa murmured as they returned to the desert darkness, standing in the doorway with drinks in hand. “And there’s a man coming out of the restroom.”

  Oz nodded and led her across the lot, senses on full alert. Opening the passenger door, he helped her in. She sat sideways, not letting him close the door. He wasn’t too worried about taking on men with fists, but if they had guns, that was another matter. He’d rather she was inside. Pippa shot him a look as if she knew what was running through his mind, so he didn’t argue. He hoped she could run fast. Or that her screams were as effective as she claimed.

  The gangs in this area were notorious.

  The man emerging behind them headed toward a nondescript Ford parked in the shadows on the side of the station. He stopped to light a cigarette. Oz stuck the nozzle in the gas tank and watched from the corner of his eye. He suspected the other man was doing the same thing, sizing him up.

  If nothing else, the Mercedes was a tempting target. He should have stayed with the pickup, but the backseat was small, and he’d hoped… Damn, he should never hope.

  It had been a long time since he’d had to face thugs. Unless Donal was involved, he didn’t want to face this one now. It was too dangerous to the woman he was doing a damned poor job of protecting.

  Oz straightened and stretched, letting the other man know he wasn’t precisely a pushover. If there was only one thug, he’d slink away. Cowards preferred easy prey.

  Pippa began humming.

  Oz had no idea what the song was. He didn’t even hear any emotion behind it. She was simply humming some pleasant tune that might make him smile if he wasn’t so wary of his surroundings. Did she think the sound would carry across a parking lot?

  Could he believe her humming was the reason the stranger climbed in his car and started the engine? Probably not. But if it made her feel better to think she helped, that was fine with him. The more confident she was of handling her surroundings, the more likely it was that he could talk her into the show.

  Now, if only he could figure out why the hell they were here…

  He kept an eye on the Ford as it turned onto the street and drove east, out of sight.

  He’d almost forgotten the unobtrusive shadow Pippa had pointed out at the corner of the store. The figure had completely blended with the darkness, making no overt moves that he’d noticed. Hiding from the guy in the Ford?

  It seemed so. Haltingly, a woman in a long, loose skirt stepped into the parking lot light, leaning on a cane.

  The gas tank clicked off, and Oz returned the hose to the pump while Pippa’s humming changed in a way he didn’t quite grasp. If her voice was as magical as she claimed, he was definitely immune to it. He just knew the pattern of the notes changed.

  And the woman stepped more boldly onto the pavement, crossing the lot in their direction with eagerness. Her stride was still halting. She was slender to the point of frail, even more so than Pippa, but the full skirt and loose blouse disguised the fact fairly well. Unstyled and pinned in a twist, her light hair captured the overhead glow as she approached. She wasn’t tall but carried herself as if she were.

  She halted some feet away from the car, leaned on the cane, and just stared, drinking them in as if they were an oasis in the desert or space aliens she’d long awaited. Her slender fingers lifted to cover her mouth, and Oz could swear she had tears in her eyes.

  Nervously, he wondered if he ought to usher Pippa into the car and take off, but he was hoping the Librarian had sent them here for a reason. Could this be a messenger?

  Pippa’s humming stopped. The woman seemed to shake off her trance. Taking a deep breath, she limped forward. “Did the Librarian send you?” she asked in a voice of cool assurance.

  At last! Oz nearly whooped his joy. “He did,” he said, coming around the car so he could catch her if she decided to flee. Not that she would get far with that limping gait.

  “She,” the woman responded. “The Librarian is female, I’m pretty certain.”

  Well, shit. The Librarian had dragged him out here to rescue another female? A female librarian. A loony one. Trying not to reveal his disappointment that Donal wasn’t here, he waited for her to continue.

  “I’m…” She hesitated, and Oz knew she was about to lie. “I’m Jean Wainwright. I’m in a bit of a predicament. I know this sounds very odd, but could you give me a lift out of here?”

  At Pippa’s demanding look, Oz opened the rear passenger door and assisted the woman into the seat. He was officially insane. This could be some elaborate scheme for killing him in the desert and leaving his bones to bleach in the sun. He’d heard of worse.

  He was trusting Pippa’s instincts, which made his insanity even worse. He’d never trusted a woman in his life. Alys had come close, but he’d been young then. Alys had ended his ability to trust anyone to any extent.

  But he was letting a lying stranger into his car as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

  “I’m Dylan Oswin,” he said gruffly, as she settled her skirts into the leather seat. He deliberately didn’t introduce Pippa. Let her choose her own lie.

  “Mr. Oswin, I’m so far beyond grateful that I cannot express it. I only hope I can return the favor someday.” Her voice was low and articulate, suitable for a faculty meeting in any college in the country.

  “People have helped me in the past,” he replied. “I believe in passing it on. Do you have a vehicle here we need to lock up?”

  “No,” she said firmly, without the lie in her voice. “I had a driver, but he was an illegal and didn’t feel safe. He abandoned me here.”

  He nodded curtly, closed the door, and strode around the car, suddenly eager to get the hell out of this hole. He hated mysteries for a reason. He wanted this one solved.

  Pippa introduced herself as Pippa James as he buckled in. Their new passenger murmured a pleasantry in return. Did he imagine it, or was there a hitch in the woman’s voice? He was attuned to nuances, but he preferred seeing faces before jumping to conclusions. Pulling from the station, he checked the rearview mirror, but their passenger had settled into a pool of shadow.

  “Where can we take you?” Oz asked, turning the car toward L.A. He tried not to acknowledge his overwhelming disappointment at not finding Donal here. Or any clue to his son’s whereabouts.

  “Since my credit card has been stolen, you’d probably best drop me at a homeless shelter,” Jean Wainwright suggested. “That would be safest.”

  Pippa cried out in immediate opposition. Oz thought Jean’s suggestion more sensible than anything Pippa was about to say, but it was quite possible the woman had only said it to attract sympathy. He had to be suspicious for both of them, apparently.

  “We should go to the police,” Pippa said indignantly. “Who stole it? Your driver? They’ll catch him. And then we’ll find you a place to stay.”

  “I’ve already reported the theft to the credit card people, dear,” Jean said gently. “I can’t believe anyone is still looking for me after all these years, so I’m hoping that’s all it was, petty theft. But it’s always best to expect the worst. I don’t believe the Librarian brought me back to the States to cause either of us harm. I think I’m supposed to explain what little I know.”

  That silenced Pippa, Oz observed. Trying not to hope that this woman might have the clues he sought, he checked the rearview again and spoke in Pippa’s place. “We’ll find a Denny’s open if you’d like a bite to eat while we talk.”

  “I wish I could say I might be helpful, but the Librarian is very vague about what’s happening. She simply asked me to return to Bakersfield.”

  Oz mentally revie
wed his entire repertoire of curses but refrained from frightening the women with his opinion of the damned vague Librarian. The winding desert road was empty. If there were cops ahead, he’d suffer the consequences. He wanted to know where his son was, and the sooner, the better. He hit the gas.

  “Does this have to do with Oz’s son?” Pippa asked quietly.

  He darted her a look to be certain she was okay. She was modulating her voice again, keeping it low and even. But her hands were twisting restlessly in her lap. She’d warned him that her pent-up emotion could explode without warning. But she was apparently wary of revealing anything to strangers. He wished he knew how his easy life had become mixed up in this craziness.

  He clenched the steering wheel and waited for their passenger to form her careful reply. He didn’t trust her further than he could see her, but if his son’s life was in her hands…

  “I think I may know something about the kidnapping,” Jean finally replied. “But you’ll have to understand that I don’t have the answers, that I’m as much a victim as you.”

  “How are we involved?” Oz demanded, his attention fully focused at the word kidnapping.

  The woman waited a long time before replying. “I don’t know how much to tell you,” she admitted. “I hadn’t expected to ever meet you. And I’m afraid that the more you know, the more dangerous it will be.”

  Shit. Oz slammed down the accelerator, and the Mercedes flew down the dark road.

  Chapter 21

  Pippa clung to the door handle as the uneven landscape flashed by. She didn’t fear Oz’s speed so much as her own uncertainties.

  She was fairly confident that she had reassured Jean with her humming, that the woman had responded to her Voice. So she shouldn’t be afraid of her. In fact, she was drawn to her in some manner she couldn’t define. She didn’t hear anything in the stranger’s voice, but Jean’s presence seemed to have a calming effect on the Beast. Might other people have weird abilities that could cause a connection?

  It wasn’t working on Oz. She darted him a wary look. If the car had been a rocket, they’d be on the moon by now. She suspected if Jean didn’t speak carefully, he’d rip her head off in an effort to pry answers out of her.

  She could understand his desperation. If there was any possibility Donal was still alive and this woman had a clue to his whereabouts, she was willing to rip heads too. She knew what it was like to be left abandoned and alone. She wanted no other child to suffer that loss.

  “Speed limit sign,” she said softly, jerking Oz back to the moment as they cruised into the outskirts of town.

  “Having my card stolen was probably just a result of my carelessness. I don’t think anyone is really looking for me. I’ve been gone a long time,” Jean said from the backseat.

  “Why would anyone be looking for you?” Pippa asked. She didn’t know how she could be involved in any of this, except the Librarian had led Oz to her.

  “It’s an old story, dear. I’d thought it ended, but I try not to take chances these days.”

  Oz parked in the darker part of a Denny’s lot, hiding the distinctive Mercedes as much as possible. Pippa waited for him to come around and open their doors. She’d feel safer with his broad body beside her.

  Once inside, they settled in a corner booth farthest from the door, Oz with his back to the wall so he could watch anyone entering. Pippa sat beside him so she could look through the window—and because she needed his proximity.

  “I can’t believe I leave home for the first time in years and get involved in skullduggery,” Pippa muttered as the waitress delivered their coffee. She hated coffee, but she’d spent enough nights on the road during her rocky career to know better than to order tea in a place like this.

  “No one knew where you were,” Jean said in response to her mutter.

  Pippa blinked and stared at her in astonishment. “Me? Why would anyone want to know where I was?”

  The woman’s face looked lined and tired. She’d been pretty once, Pippa thought. She might be again if she got a good night’s sleep and perhaps relief from whatever pain made her limp. Jean was probably in her fifties, and her skin was still taut, although worry lines crinkled about her eyes and lips.

  “If I begin with my story, it might place both of you in danger, so forgive me if I sift through my thoughts to find the ones you need.” Jean sipped her coffee and studied them from across the table.

  That’s when Pippa noticed Jean’s eyes were a faded turquoise. Like hers, only older. She gasped and set her cup down so abruptly that coffee sloshed over the brim. “You have my eyes.”

  Oz stiffened and clasped his big mitt over her fingers, grounding her. “Similar,” he said. “Not as vivid.”

  “No one has blue-green eyes,” Pippa insisted when Jean said nothing.

  “It’s a family trait,” Jean agreed wearily. “Don’t make anything of it just yet. We’re a very, very large family. Scattered. Perhaps for the same elusive reasons my car was deliberately driven off the road all those years ago and why Alys’s son may have been kidnapped.”

  Deliberately driven off the road? Pippa’s stomach lurched, and she cast Oz a glance, but he seemed frozen. She squeezed his hand, and he returned the favor.

  “Go on,” he rumbled when Pippa couldn’t find her tongue.

  “That accident killed my husband and put me in a nursing home for years,” Jean said slowly, obviously sifting as she spoke. “When I got out about six years ago, I went to a website in search of the rest of my family. I immediately received a private message from the Librarian.”

  “What website?” Oz demanded.

  Pippa would rather hear the rest of the story first, but she waited, knowing Oz had more at stake than she.

  Jean waved her hand in dismissal. “If it’s important, I’ll tell you later. Let me organize this story as I think best. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

  The waitress returned for their orders. Pippa didn’t know if she could stomach greasy eggs at this hour while under this tension. She ordered the fruit and hoped for the best.

  “Oz is worried about his son,” Pippa said when the waitress left. “Could you tell us if he’s alive?”

  Again, the woman hesitated before nodding. “I believe so. I think that’s why we’re here. I think the Librarian wants us to talk. I don’t know why she can’t. Or won’t. Perhaps she’s like me and hiding.”

  Oz’s hand nearly crushed her fingers. Pippa covered their joined hands with her free one, wishing that humming would ease his anguish. She was amazed he didn’t leap out of his seat, grab Jean by the neck, and drag her to the nearest police station. He was practically vibrating with the need to act. She had never learned the natural ability to comfort without her Voice. She tried stroking his hand in hopes that helped.

  It felt odd thinking of the Beast in a positive manner, but she’d learned today that if she tried, she could gain a few moments’ peace for others by using it.

  She just couldn’t help Oz if he couldn’t hear her.

  “Is Donal all right?” he demanded.

  “I think so. I’m uncertain of the motivation for the kidnapping, but if…” Jean sighed as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I don’t see any other way of saying this. I wanted to protect you from the knowledge and myself from your skepticism, but I don’t know how else to explain. Was your wife’s maiden name Malcolm?”

  Oz sounded puzzled. “No, it was Bryan.”

  Jean shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Somewhere in her background, Alys must have believed she had a Malcolm ancestor. Your son may have been targeted because of this.”

  It was Pippa’s turn to stiffen. She was a Malcolm. It was one of the names she’d given the firemen when she was three years old. How many people knew that?

  Oz did. He began stroking her h
and with his thumb, forcing her to focus on the conversation and not her panic.

  “That’s nuts,” he said, flattening her fears another notch.

  Jean nodded with a weary smile. “I fear that’s the problem. No one believes us.”

  “You know who’s behind Donal’s kidnapping?” Oz asked in a voice that threatened mayhem.

  “No. I’ve been bedridden for years. All I’ve done is made a few connections and run into the Librarian at that website. Once I recovered enough ability to use my hands, I filled my time with computer research, looking for family. There’s a genealogical website that’s tracking us, and it seems the Malcolms are prone to trouble.”

  “Why Malcolms?” Pippa asked in puzzlement, although in her heart, she feared she knew the answer. Because of her Voice. Because there were others like her out there, others who had to hide what they were.

  Jean’s blue-green gaze pierced her, and Pippa had to shut her eyes. Her guess was right. A very odd bubble of joy and hope swelled inside her at knowing she wasn’t alone. If she believed this tale.

  If she believed this tale, Jean knew who she was.

  “Malcolms aren’t normal,” Pippa said before anyone else could.

  Jean laughed lightly. “We’re normal. We’re just able to access parts of our brains that others don’t—and only then if we’re trained from birth to nurture our abilities. If a child bursts into song at a table in a restaurant, she can be hushed—or she can be encouraged to access the gifts that song releases. If a storyteller isn’t punished for telling tales but given a microphone and told to record them, she might produce childish fiction—or the tale could reveal secrets others would rather hide.”